Dear Blaine
by GeniaTheParadox
Summary: The most depressing Klaine fic I have ever written, in which Kurt writes a heartfelt letter to the absent Blaine.


I genuinely upset myself after I wrote this. I don't understand why I have to be so good at angst, especially considering how opposed I am to Bad Things Happening To My Darling Kurt Hummel. But here we are.

Anyway, reviews would be just peachy.

And I don't and probably never will own Glee.

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><p>Dear Blaine,<p>

I hope you're well, wherever you are. I'm writing you a letter because I know how much you like putting pen to paper, receiving something more personal and meaningful than an email. Also, because I know how much you like my handwriting, even though yours is so much neater. I know you won't reply, but I'm writing to you anyway. I hope you don't find reading all this too boring. I just miss talking to you.

Everything feels weird now that we're not together anymore. Our apartment feels cold, even in this ridiculous New York summer. I have to keep all the windows open during the day just so I don't feel like I'm in an oven. And you remember what it's like here. There's no privacy, all the apartments are too close together for that. I can see through all my neighbours' windows across the street, right into their apartments, and they can all see me. But we pretend like we can't, like some kind of silent agreement of fake privacy.

You remember, don't you? You remember that horrible old couple that used to live opposite us, the ones who always played Christian music and who we'd sometimes catch glaring disapprovingly at us from their window if we happened to kiss each other in our living room? And you remember that time when we came home drunk that night, and we could see them watching TV in their apartment so we decided to have really noisy sex right there on the couch just to piss them off? Of course you do. You're laughing as you read this, I can just tell.

This apartment felt like home then. It was still as small and quirkily decorated as it is now, but back then it felt warmer. Back then there was nowhere else in the world I'd rather be. It was even more like home than Lima, even though all my family are still there now. I always complained about that place while I was there though, and you would always insist that it wasn't so bad, even though Ohio had treated us both pretty terribly in the past. I've always admired your optimism, Blaine. That's probably why this apartment feels so cold now. When you left you took all the warmth with you.

This isn't me trying to beg you to come back, because I know how useless that would be. But I miss you, Blaine. I miss you, and I miss Toronto. I could've handled you leaving me if only you hadn't taken our son with you. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't think about the two of you, about all of Toronto's life that I'm going to miss. It's been just over a year, so I've missed his sixth birthday. I bought him a present anyway, but I didn't know where to send it to so it's still in our bedroom... _my_ bedroom. I always wonder whether he would've liked it. I keep on seeing things in stores that I think Tor would like and have to actively stop myself from buying them. I have to keep reminding myself that he won't be there to greet me in his excitably little way when I get home. Neither will you.

I don't blame you for leaving, sweetheart, but that doesn't make it any less heartbreaking. We were looking for a house. Somewhere out in the suburbs with more space than our pokey two bedroom apartment, somewhere more homely for Tor to grow up, and maybe even start the lengthy adoption process again so we could raise another child.

We were planning all of that, even though I could see it in your eyes that it kind of scared you. Even when we got Tor you were scared. It was _growing up_. Yes, you're mature, but you were scared of the responsibility. You were unnerved by the idea of moving to the suburbs and doing the whole 'family thing'. You never said it, but you didn't have to. I know you, Blaine. I know you better than you do. And the only reason you did all of it is because you knew it was what I wanted. But you were so afraid that properly settling down would somehow turn you into your father. That never would've happened, sweetheart. You're nothing like him. I could tell from the way you were with Toronto, how caring you were and how much you adored him that you would be nothing like your father.

But I supposed it doesn't matter. I'm not going to have that dream life in the suburbs with two kids, a dog and loving husband anymore. Whenever Rachel comes to visit me she says that I should try to move on and find someone else. I can't keep on living in the past. She'd definitely not approve of me writing this letter to you, as I'm sure this counts as 'living in the past'. But how am I supposed to move on from you, Blaine? You were my whole world and you've been my whole world since I was seventeen. Even during our one year apart, when I was here in New York and you were in your senior year at McKinley, you were still my whole world. You will always be the love of my life, no matter how much I wish I could just move on.

But I need to start moving on. I need to find somewhere else to live. This apartment is full of so many memories, too many. I can't even sleep in our bed – _my_ bed – without immediately imagining you next to me. I try and sleep, but I can feel your arms wrapped around my waist as we spoon, your scruffy cheek against my shoulder blade, and your warm breath making my skin tingle. I can remember every single time we made love in that bed. I can feel you on top of me and underneath me and behind me. I can feel your hands and your lips and your hot skin against mine. I can feel it all with such clarity that I find myself in tears before I can stop myself. Even when I cry I can feel your arms around me, holding me tight, and I can feel you kiss my forehead. I can even feel little Toronto holding me, nuzzling into my neck as I carry him, saying in his lispy little voice "Don't cry, Daddy."

There are tears in my eyes and a knot in my stomach as I write this, but I don't want you to worry about me. It's not like right after you left. That night I cried for hours, I cried until it hurt, so loud and hard that I was sure the whole block could hear me weeping. Karen from next door even came over to see what was wrong, but I could barely speak let alone explain to her, so she just held me and let me cry on her shoulder. You remember Karen, right? She's that lovely girl with the red hair that had a little crush on you when we first moved in, even though she knew you were gay. She babysat Tor for us sometimes when we had an opening night party to go to, back when I was a still a Broadway star.

She was the first person I ended up telling after you left me, purely because she was the first person there. She waited patiently as I cried my eyes out, and when I'd calmed down she asked me gently what was wrong. So I told her everything, stopping now and again to wipe the fresh tears off my face. I told her about you going to pick Toronto up from his friend's house that afternoon and not coming home. I told her about the phone call from the police earlier. I told her exactly what they'd said. Apparently the drunk driver had come out of nowhere, crashing into your side of the car, ramming you into a lamppost. The drunk driver walked away with just a few scratches, but you and Tor had gone before the ambulance had gotten there.

"There's nothing we could have done, Mr. Anderson-Hummel. We're so sorry for your lose."

Karen was in tears once I'd finished explaining. She stayed the night with me just so I wouldn't have to be alone. But I'm always going to be alone now. I'm thinking of moving back to Lima to stay with Dad and Carole, but even then I know I'm going to have this emptiness inside that's never going to be filled. Nothing in the world can replace the two of you, Blaine. I love you both so much, so much it hurts. But you're gone where I can't follow. And don't worry, I'm not going to do anything stupid. I mean, I thought about it. A lot. I had to start taking sleeping pills, and there were so many times when I had to stop myself from just downing the whole bottle and washing them down with a few mouthfuls of vodka. And it was because I knew you would be disappointed. I knew you would be saddened by me taking the easy way out. I knew you'd want me to be courageous and carry on living because you and Toronto couldn't. So I'm still here... just.

I know it's wrong to live in the past, but I don't want to forget you and Tor. I keep your picture by the bed, I have videos of you and Tor singing on my phone, and I have all of Tor's drawings still on the fridge. You've left me, and I know I need to try and move on, but I don't want to feel like you're not still here. Even though it hurts to think of you, to think of the future we'll never have, I don't want to forget you.

I will always love you, sweetheart.

Your Kurt xxx

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><p>Hope I didn't completely depress you all, Humble Readers.<p>

xxx


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